Dodge
by Eggstasy
Summary: It couldn't even be described as something different- a slip in balance, a crosswind, even a force beyond man's comprehension; it was just...wrong. Something wrong. Mike was standing on the edge of a building, and then he wasn't.


If there was one thing Mike could do exceptionally well, it was dodge. He made it abundantly clear in his sparring sessions with Raphael; he would duck, sidestep and flip as if he'd been born -hatched, whatever- doing just that, usually to the point where Raph would either scream with frustration or give up just so he wouldn't have to deal with it any longer. The taunting would follow, but that was easy enough to ignore. It was when one tried to take a swipe at Mike that it only grew worse. Like breathing on a fire. Encouragement for Mike to do his worst. It was a concept that Raphael simply couldn't comprehend it seemed, and he always, _always_ swiped at Mike.

Mike was _great _at avoiding a blow.

Not so good at it when his opponent was gravity.

It was a normal run day; a bit slicker than usual, but it wasn't as if they hadn't run in rain before. It was nearing fall, so the rains were getting a little steadier. Despite making conditions on the rooftops more dangerous the turtles generally liked the rain. Maybe it was a turtle thing, they didn't know. Don had a few theories, but never got very far with them as his brothers didn't seem to share his same interest in explaining why exactly they appreciated acts of nature.

Mike said his stomach was an act of nature and put an end to that discussion. They were all hungry anyway.

It was late and the night had been uneventful. Not even so much as a purse snatching to correct. Raphael was snorting angrily at the lack of crime -though he secretly was glad that they'd terrorized enough punk ass kids to make them think twice about it- and loudly proclaimed that he was heading to Casey's after dinner. That predictably set Leonardo off, and the two engaged in a heated argument concerning one's obligations to one's family, so on and so forth.

They were just butting heads for the sake of it. It was bonding, in some weird, twisted way. Mike would have none of it though, and insisted they hurry home because he wanted _food _damn it, and he wanted to bond with dinner and would gladly ship Raph off to be with Casey and they could live happily ever after complete with a white picket fence if that meant he could have some pasta.

Then something wrong happened.

Ex post facto, nobody could really pinpoint what exactly had gone wrong. It couldn't even be described as something different- a slip in balance, a crosswind, even a force beyond man's comprehension; it was just...wrong. Something wrong.

Mike was standing on the edge of a building, and then he wasn't.

Leonardo, Raphael and Donatello all blinked at the empty spot, as if they expected something outrageously comical to happen. A stenciled white outline would appear in the air, a dotted line that would blink like in a Wile E. Coyote cartoon. Now you see him, now you don't. It wasn't until they heard a sharp _crack _from below that anyone had the sense to set himself to motion. They lunged for the edge of the building like sailors rush the railings of a boat to collect a fallen comrade. Man overboard.

Mike was on the ground and he wasn't moving.

That was probably the worst part, Leonardo reflected later. He'd somehow managed not to panic as he scaled down, his mouth set in a grim line. Mike was a lot of things; he was dense and observant, he was strong and weak, he was needy and clingy and steadfast and brave but he was never still and he was never _quiet_. He just wasn't, it wasn't in his genetic makeup. The boy did not know how to stealth on cue, it just came to him in these blessed moments of concentration that emerged from the pit of his soul, or something equally poetic. But it wasn't a naturally occurring thing.

Mike was quiet on he ground now. Unnatural.

Leo was the first by his brother's side, and Donatello hissed above him as loudly as he dared, "Don't move him!" Leonardo withdrew his hands. There wasn't any blood that he could see, which was good. At least, he thought it was good. With their luck it could turn out to be the very sign that spelled his death. _No, no Leonardo, _he told himself before he could really start to lose it.

Don was there a moment later, and then Raph. Raphael was so panicked he was shaking and Leo sent him to look out. If he was less terrified he would have refused -argued, passionately, put forth his opinion, the only one that mattered to him- but his hotheaded brother must have realized he needed something to do and left without a fuss. "Don, talk to me," Leo murmured in his best Leader voice, eyes fixed on Mike's face. The youngest hadn't so much as twitched.

"He must have landed on his shell," Don said grimly.

"Isn't that good?"

"Yes and no." Don gently ran his fingers around Mike's neck. "It depends on _how _he landed. If we're lucky he just jarred himself and fainted from shock or pain. If we're not...then he might've damaged his spine, or his spinal cord. We need him to wake up so I can check before we move him."

Raph returned. He bore news that proved the universe hated ninja turtles. "Cops. We gotta go."

"We can't move Mike," Don protested, but Leonardo silenced him with a hand before pressing it to his mouth. These were the decision a leader had to make. Sometimes he almost hated Splinter for putting this on his shoulders, and sometimes he was grateful that he could so that nobody else would _have _to.

A moment passed, then another, and Raph said urgently, "Leo."

"We leave." Leo glanced up when Don gave a muted sound and shook his head. "I know. But if we're found he'd be worse than paralyzed. We need to go, now."

"Paralyzed?" Raphael asked in horror, but Leo cut him off. "Raph, you and Don carry him. We need to get out of sight."

Don still seemed as if he wanted to disobey, but within moments he and Raphael were carefully cradling Mike's still body and moving him further down the alley. Leonardo scouted ahead and brought back word that was both good and bad. "There's a manhole cover over this way."

"Leo, we can't. We _can't _risk that, there's no way we'll get him down without moving his neck." Don seemed as if he would absolutely refuse, and Leonardo glanced around and up.

"What about up? Do you think we can get him up without moving him too much?"

Don cast a doubtful look at the rooftops and the rickety ladders leading there.

: "Up or down Don, we have to do one of the two." Leonardo's voice was the epitome of cool, calm decision. There was not a car full of people that would sooner shoot them from fear and shock than ask them if they could help. They had all the time in the world for this decision. Don squeezed his eyes shut before looking at his eldest brother and nodding. Leo nodded back and they headed to the manhole.

* * *

"Why hasn't he woke up yet?" Raph was meticulously digging the tip of a sai into the brickwork and Leo couldn't work up the will to be annoyed at the mistreatment of his weapons. He was worried too. "It's been almost an hour."

"It's possible he blacked out on the way down here," Don said, but his voice betrayed his doubtfulness. Mike was still, on his side and half-balanced against Leo's knees. They didn't want to risk carrying him all the way home until Don could be certain about his spine. It was a difficult thing to check with thirty pounds of shell in the way, and for the first time Leonardo found he _didn't _like being what he was. He would gladly give up turtlehood if it meant Mike would be all right.

"It would be best if we had some smelling salts, but I'm reluctant to try and wake him forcefully. He could jerk- jolt or something,knock something out of place." Don drew Mike's mask anxiously between his fingers. They'd removed it once they had their brother settled.

Twice Leonardo considered sending Raph off to get water, get something, _do _something, but he was worried what would happen if the worst came to pass while he was gone. They'd already called Splinter, but received no answer. It wasn't surprising; half the time Splinter didn't know how to work the phone, and the other half he didn't have it with him. Or he forgot to charge it. The last time they'd tried it went straight to voicemail. It was likely the phone was dead, and Don had reported as such when he snapped his own shell cell shut solemnly. Leo had cursed then, under his breath, and risked brushing a hand gently over Mike's head.

Another five minutes or so passed in silence, and there was a very quiet sound. A light exhale.

It wasn't what Leonardo had expected, really. When Mike came to, it was always a big deal. Even half asleep he was loud, and he would complain or jump right out of bed like he'd been awake the entire time. Never a sigh. A soft 'I'm awake' sound. Leo didn't know if it was a good or bad sign, but he'd never been happier to see his brother's eyes open and seemingly coherent. "Mike?" he asked, and couldn't keep his voice from cracking.

The eyes followed to his face and Leonardo knew Mike was with them.

"Don't move," Don advised Mike and the eyes followed him instead. "I need you to tell me if you can feel what I'm going to do, okay Mike? Don't nod- say something or blink twice if you understand me."

"Yeah," Mike exhaled again -Leo didn't like it, _did not_- but Don nodded as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He scooted down to Mike's feet and tapped his toes.

"Do you feel that?"

"Mmm," hummed Michelangelo, and his brow furrowed. Raph assumed Don's previous position and reached out to touch his hand. "You can't feel that, Mikey?"

"I can," Mike said slowly and blinked owlishly as if fighting off sleep. "Hurts."

That alarmed Leonardo, but Donatello appeared relieved. He moved on to touch the soles of Mike's feet, then his ankles, calves. When he reached Mike's thighs and received a wince as an answer, he stopped. "Mike, can you wiggle your toes?"

There was a pause and Leonardo heard Raph suck in a frightened breath.

"Do I have to?" Mike asked in a small voice that spoke of great reluctance, and Don let out a laugh that was more of a relieved gasp.

"No Mike, I'll take your word for it. How about we get you home now?"

* * *

Mike was horribly sore for the next few days, and unusually quiet. Don explained that when Mike had landed, he'd probably hit somewhere on his shell and jarred his spinal cord and the rest of his nervous system. Possibly pulled a muscle in his neck when his head bounced; he couldn't turn to look at things for a few days without a terrible pain. They found that out the hard way and had scared them half to death, but after Mike stopped howling they realized he was in no danger of dying and caught their breath. The shell had a few minor hairline cracks, but nothing that wouldn't heal on its own with a little plaster and a lot of rest. He probably found it somewhat painful to take deep breaths, which would explain why he didn't shout or talk as much.

By the end of the week Mike was milking his "recovery" for all it was worth, and everyone knew things were back in order. That didn't stop Raph from sitting at his bedside every night until Mike was proclaimed well enough to move around, despite the teasing and joking he received.

They never did find out exactly why Mike had fell. Raph called it divine punishment, and Don said it could've simply been vertigo brought on by hunger or exhaustion. When Leonardo asked Mike, his brother fell silent and his gaze turned inward.

When Leo asked him again, Mike simply said, "Turtle luck, true to form."

Mike didn't stand on the ledges of the rooftops after that, though.


End file.
